


The Achievements of Demons

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: In the Game [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Damian Wayne, BAMF Dick Grayson, BAMF Jason Todd, BAMF Tim, Gen, Guns, Jim needs a nap, Jim's trying to wrap his head around it, Mafia Batfamily, Mob Boss Bruce Wayne, Murder, Organized Crime, Undercover Missions, he won't be getting one, the BatFam is a CrimeFam, these boyos have a smidge of crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: Jim knows the Wayne boys are cruel, and even worse when they're bored, but knowing it and seeing something so awful with his own eyes are truly different.





	The Achievements of Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I continued it! I have a million half-written pieces in my drafts so we'll see where this series goes.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Jim hears the voices before he gets to the backroom, as is usually the way. It's their club, after all, and there's no need for them to lower their voices. This isn't where the actual business gets done, anyway. Not the big stuff, the stuff worth overhearing. He learned that Day 2.

Jason and Roy

_(Roy Harper, 28 years old, close friend of the eldest two Wayne boys. Been arrested for assault three times, and twice for murder. Never went to prisonthe witnesses and accusers always mysteriously vanished before trial could begin. Drug addict. Expert archer. Assassin)_

are currently the loudest, their laughter carrying down the hall with the music. They're probably drunka good majority of the people in that room are probably drunkbut he knows that not a single one of them will be  _nearly_ as drunk as they let the rest of the world believe.

Jim doesn't know where all these kids learned to lie so well, but he has to admit he's impressed by their skill. He's an observant man, but he's pretty sure they often get things past him. They often get things past a  _lot_ of people.

It's why they've never been caught. It's why they have so many people chasing their tails. It's why Jim has to be  _better_ than he is.

He hears someone shout something, a few words slurred, but the sentiment is something along the lines of celebration. A chorus of cheers follows the words, and Jim's lips twist sardonically; from their point of view, he supposes that they  _do_ have things to celebrate.

Jim, on the other hand? Well, the deaths of four cops and nine innocent bystanders weigh heavily on his mind and turn his stomach into knots. He doesn't care that Don Wayne has gained some territory from Penguin, territory that Penguin probably would've given him  _anyway_ because Cobblepotjust like every other person in Gotham with half a brainis afraid enough of the Wayne family to simply do as he's told.

No, that isn't why they torched the warehouse.

That isn't why Jason Todd held up a gun and pulled the trigger again and again without hesitation, robbing a family of a husband, a wife, a son, a daughter. That isn't why Dick Grayson grinned down at a man begging for mercy, both of their faces splattered with blood. That isn't why Tim Drake walked through the smoldering remains of a building, putting bullets in anyone who survived. That isn't why Damian Wayne cut a man throat to gut, splitting his body practically in two.

None of that was to get Penguin's territory. None of that was strategic. They could justify it to the world however they wanted, but that was just because they were  _bored._

Four cops, nine innocent bystanders, and twenty-three people who worked for Cobblepot. Jim wasn't even there for the main event, just the end, and he still barely kept himself from vomiting.

He pauses outside the door to the room, takes a moment to steady himself. It's only been five hours since he was called to the warehouse. Only five hours since he helped get rid of the remaining bodies. Only five hours since he saw in person things he'd only seen in pictures. Only five hours since the demons inside those four boys really came out to play.

At the very least, he'd been given a chance to go home, shower, change, and ~~not~~ eat something. Then he'd been called to _the Manor,_ their shining club in Gotham, and he hadn't hesitated to go.

He doesn't have the luxury of hesitation. Not in this business. Not in his role.

Jim knocks on the door, waits half a second, and then enters. Automatically, his eyes scan to track everyone in the room, going firstof courseto the Wayne boys.

Damian, despite where he is, is the one Jim sees first. The fifteen-year-old is sitting in an armchair in the back corner of the room, legs folded, laptop open. There's a phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear as he types rapidly, simultaneously holding a conversation with whoever's on the other end. There's a small grin on his face, too, looking extraordinarily pleased, and Jim even hears a hint of an actual  _laugh_ from the boy.

It would've been sweet, if the curl of his lips was gentle instead of sharp, if the spark in his eyes was shining instead of hard, if the laugh was melodic instead of razor wire.

Jim can pretend that the boy is talking to a friend about something normal, but the more likely scenario is that he's talking about the massacre he just participated in. Part of Jim wonders who's on the phone, and the rest of him doesn't want to know.

The next person Jim spots in Jason. He's standing a few feet in front of a dart board, a grin splitting his face, lighting his eyes, and Jim's stomach rolls uneasily. The twenty-three-year-old tends to not look like that in public, look like that in front of anyone other than his siblings, and Jim doesn't really like seeing it; makes him feel like he's somewhere he really shouldn't be, or like someone's about to get seriously hurt.

(Only tends to look like that in front of his family, or when his fists are bearing down on someone's face.)

Jason has his arm around Roy's shoulders, who's standing next to him and holding a few darts of his own, and Jim can hear a challenge being thrown down. He's not surprised; Roy's one of the few people who has never had a problem standing up to the boys, whether or not it gets him beaten black and blue.

Jim thinks that's why Dick and Jason like the druggie so much. Roy's sharp and determined and a little wild around the edges, and he's loyal. Once, he provoked Jason into breaking his leg, and still showed up to work the next day. The three of them all acted like it was nothing, like it was another day in the life. No resentment, no babying, nothing.

It had been  _fascinating_ to watch. And definitely weird.

Next, Jim sees Tim. The twenty-year-old is at the pool table with a few other people, leaning over it with his cue. Stephanie is plastered to his back, hands on his hips, and she adjust his aim slightly, causing him to look at her with exasperation. She simply laughs in reply, saying something that looks like an apology. Tim, without taking his eyes off her face, shoots, easily making the shot with his own aim.

Tim then turns when Conner slings an arm around his shoulders, and Jim can't hear what they say but it ends with the pair of them taking a shot, both smiling.

_Four cops, nine innocent bystanders, twenty-three mobsters and gangbangers._

It all makes Jim wonder if they do this every time they destroy lives, if they party like they've achieved something great, something gorgeous.

And frankly, Jim knows they're all too self-aware to  _actually_ believe that they're celebrating getting territory from Penguin. He knows that they  _have_ to know they could've gotten that with no more than a threatening look. He knows that they  _know_ they're just riding high on murder, and using the territory as an excuse to celebrate.

He wonders how much Don Wayne supports this versus tolerates it, control freak that he is.

Last, Jim sees Dick. The twenty-seven-year-old is sitting on one of the couches with a beautiful girl perched in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck. She looks like she's attempting to swallow him whole, and he's grinning against her mouth. There's a boy leaning over the back of the couch, one of his hands tangled up in Dick's hair, and he's whispering something in Dick's ear with a filthy grin.

The girl, Jim sees, is the daughter of the front runner in the upcoming mayoral election. The boy, Jim notices next, is the son of the  _current_ mayor.

Dick has them bothand thus, most likely, their fatherseating out of the palm of his hand. Jim's not even  _close_ to surprised.

Jim recognizes a majority of the other people in the room. Standing by the darts board with Jason and Roy is Wally

 _(Wallace West, 25 years old. Nephew of the CSI Barry Allen in Central City. Excellent thiefin and out without a single person ever seeing him. Met Dick Grayson ten years ago. Has been involved in some form or another with the Wayne crime family ever since)_.

By the pool table with Tim are Donna

_(Donna Troy, age unknown, estimated mid-twenties. Background unknown. Enforcer for the Wayne crime family. Kicked Jason Todd in the balls in a barroom brawl three years ago and instead of being killed, she was brought in. Theorized connection to Diana Prince, background also unknown)_

and Zatanna

_(Zatanna Zatara, 23 years old, daughter of the imprisoned Giovanni Zatara. Don Wayne brought her in last year when her father went to prison. Very sweet girl. Very manipulative. Very good with a blade)_

and there's a boy sprawled out on one the couches singing along to the music and grinning like a fool, a mostly-empty drink in his hand. He's young. Jim doesn't recognize him, but he's sure he'll find out soon enough.

"Jimbo!" Jason calls out. Jim would say that he was simply the first to spot him, but Jim's all too aware of the fact that the Wayne boys are scarily perceptive, and Jason's just the first to acknowledge his existence. "C'mon in!"

He sounds drunk. He's smiling and swaying like he is. Jim refuses to let himself be lulled by that.

Jim walks further into the room. "Hello, Mr. Todd," he says respectfully. It's weird calling someone half his age  _Mister,_ but he's had four months to get used to it at this point.

No matter how many times Grayson says  _Oh, please, call me Dick,_ or Drake says _Tim's fine, really,_ Jim knows better. It's not a real invitation. They all know the  _second_ he called them so informally (or, god forbid, called Don Wayne  _Bruce)_ some kind of harm would befall his person. So many games with these boys. So many layers. Jim's still working on working it all out.

Dick detaches his mouth from the girl in his lap, the girl who now seems to be grinding down on him, and offers Jim a blinding smile. "Jim, glad you made it. Would you like something to drink?"

There's a spattering of red flakes  _(blood)_ on Jason's sleeve. There a small bit on the side of Dick's neck. Damian's nails have it. Tim leaves red fingerprints on the pool cue.

Jim wonders how much of that is purposeful, how much forgetful, how much accidental.

He just smiles back.

"No, thank you, Mr. Grayson. Is there something I can help you with?"

 _Is there a reason you called? Is there a reason I'm here? Can't I have one night of sleep, after the night we've already had? What do you want? Why am I here? What can I_ help _you with?_

Simultaneously, Dick's eyes flick over to the pool table and Tim's eyes flick over to the couch and it's not the instantaneous understanding and communication that Dick and Jason have, but they come to some decision before Jim has taken three more breaths.

Dick looks back to the girl in his lap and murmurs something in her ear. She pouts, he says something else and strokes her hair, and she brightens. She kisses him briefly and then stands, heading for the door. Dick repeats that process with the boy behind him, and the boy leaves as well.

Tim chuckles. Jason smirks.

Damian rolls his eyes and shuts his laptop, strolling over. "Ridiculous," he says derisively, and sits down at the other end of the couch from Dick.

Jason heads over too, flicking Damian on the back of his head as he passes, and then throws himself down into a beanbag. He ignores the way Damian sneers at him. Dick tilts his face away, smiling.

"Stephanie, Donna," Dick says, and they all know he doesn't have to continue.

"We're out," Donna confirms, waving goodbye.

"Good to see you, Jimmy," Stephanie adds as they pass him, walking out the door.

"Conner?" Tim says next.

Conner rolls his eyes and says, "Bart, Roy, move your asses."

The boy on the couch pops to his feet, swaying a little and blinking rapidly, but Roy just snorts. "Yeah, right."

Dick and Jason both look over at him, eyebrows raised. Roy scowls, but gives in, heading for the door after the boy  _(Bart; Jim will have to learn more about the new addition)_ and Zatanna.

"Just shout," Conner says to Tim, and then heads out the door with Wally on his heels, leaving Jim alone with the four Wayne boys.

It's not often that it's just him and them. Usually there are other men who work for them there, or it's just half the boys, or maybe even only one of them. But really, Jim doesn't spend a lot of time with them. He's only been working for Don Wayne for four months; he's not part of the inner circle, he's not even their go-to man. He does his job well, and sometimes they check in on him.

Every time they do, Jim wonders if this time is  _the_ time, the time where everything goes to shit, the time where they reveal that they know, that they've just been playing him, stringing him along, having some fun.

Right now, just alone with the four boys, Jim  _wonders._

"What can I do for you?" Jim asks as Tim heads over to his brothers, sitting on the free couch.

"I disagree," Damian says, not answering Jim's question but talking to the others about some discussion they must've been having before he came.

"We know, Damian," Tim, Dick, and Jason all say at the same time, Jason then adding, "Jinx."

"Go get your own goddamn soda," Tim replies offhandedly, then looks Jim over. It's appraising, and uncomfortable. All of them, always appraising, always searching, always looking for the best way to get under your skin, always knowing more about you than you do yourself.

"Father would also disagree," Damian adds.

Now  _that's_ unexpected.

And what  _is_ this, anyway? They never do this, never appear as anything other than a united front. This disagreement they're having in front of him? That doesn't happen. So the question is whether this step is in the right direction or in the wrong one.

Jason shoots Damian an irritated look. "You were there to hear what Bruce said same as the rest of us, brat, which means you have  _zero_ basis for that declaration."

"Just because he gave you decision making power doesn't mean he'd agree with this decision," Damian mutters.

What is this? Is it a test of some kind? It has to be purposeful, right? These boys don't do anything without a reason. Sometimes that reason might simply be  _Because I Want To,_ but it's still a reason.

Jason rolls his eyes and doesn't bother saying anything. He shifts in his seat, cocks his head slightly, and Dick snorts, then a tiny incline of his head.

Another conversation that Jim is nowhere close to understanding. He wonders how much the other two do.

He debates prompting them; decides it's better to just wait.

Tim's lips twitch up slightly, looking at him, and he seems amused. His fingers tap absently on the edge of the armrest.

"Damian," Tim says. His tone is light, offhand, a summer's breeze. Damian tenses nonetheless.

"Fine," the youngest boy grits out, looking incredibly displeased. "But when this bites us in the ass down the line I  _will_ blame you three." He then gets to his feet and stalks out, chin raised high.

Jim blinks after him for a moment. Is it real? Is it all a game? What purpose would it serve, if it is? Why be so openly against each other, if it isn't?

Maybe Jim's just paranoid. Maybe he's not paranoid enough.

But after the night he's had  _(four cops, nine innocent bystanders, twenty-three mobsters and gangbangers)_ he really just wants to take a few sleeping pills and hope that the smell of burning flesh doesn't follow him into his dreams.

When he looks back to the three remaining Wayne boys, Dick smiles charmingly and says, "Ah, puberty. Makes devils out of demons, doesn't it?"

And Jim...has no idea how he's supposed to reply to that, so instead he asks, "How can I be of service?"

"We have this job coming up," Tim says. "It's a...test run, shall we say. Need another pair of hands on it. You free next week?"

Now, Jim is anxious. Because asking him this shouldn't be as much of a production as it has been. They've asked him to help on jobs many times in the last four months. Earlier tonight, for example. He's working his way in. Right now it's all low-level stuff, mostly grunt work, but he's proving his value.

None of that would require this level of attention. What's the reason for the disagreement between Damian and the others? Why let him see it? Why dismiss all of their people before asking him this?

_Do they know? Are they just playing with the traitor in their midst? Or are they simply bored, and spicing it up a little?_

Dick and Jason share a smirk. Again, it makes Jim wonder.

"Of course," Jim says, because there's absolutely nothing else  _to_ say. He's so close. He's  _so close._ "Send me a time and I'll be there, boss."

"Excellent," Dick says, smiling that gorgeous smile of his that has suckered in so many people, and gets to his feet. Jason stands simultaneously, cracking his neck. "Now, I still have a bit of excess adrenaline from earlier, so I think I'm gonna head out, find a lively club somewhere. Tim?"

"You guys go," the third Wayne son says, smiling back. "Conner and I have plans; I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"Try not to let Mr. Anger Issues destroy a whole city block," Jason drawls as he heads for the door, Dick behind him. Tim flips him off at the snarky comment, but doesn't actually seem too bothered.

Once they're gone, Tim looks at Jim, amused. "I'd caution you to avoid Dick and Jason's path for the rest of the night if I thought you actually ran in those circles," he says, lips curved.

A spike of anxiety.  _What?_ "Sir?"

Tim shakes his head, waving off the question, but his eyes are knowing.  _Knowing what? How much of this is all a trap, how much is real? Am I overestimating their knowledge or underestimating it?_

"Clubs is all, James, that's it. That's all I meant. Now, I hate to cut and run on you, but I  _do_ have plans."

"Of course," Jim says, the words automatic. He steps to the side, clearing the way for Tim to the door. "Let me know when you guys need me."

Tim nods and clasps him on the shoulder as he walks past. "Would you mind cleaning this place up for us, by the way? The boys out front have been super busy tonight, and I'd hate to give them one more thing to do."

He doesn't even stop walking as he "asks" his question. Jim doesn't expect him to.

"Of course," Jim says again, certainly not pointing out the busy night  _he's_ had _(four, nine, twenty-three),_ and then the boy is gone, leaving Jim alone with the mess created by a bunch of children, children who deal with life and death on a day-to-day basis and yet still spill chips on the ground like regular old kids.

It's fifteen minutes later that it occurs to Jim that the four Wayne boys seemed to sober up  _extremely_ quickly for how intoxicated they'd first appeared. Was the show for all their friends? Was it for themselves? What was the point of it all?

What was the point of any of this?

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ Jim wonders, not for the first time, and it certainly won't be for the last.


End file.
